Days of Gold Gone By: Ep.Six

Days of Gold Gone By: A Serial

Authors Note: I feel this is my most poor episode so far, and I would be grateful for your opinion on it also. If you have any suggestions to make it more interesting or compelling, I'm all ears. I am looking for this sort of feedback in paricular rather than just plain nitpicks. So if you insist on pointing out all my typos, I would appriciate it if you included some of the mentioned above also.

Episode Six: Rain of Fire

It is not until now that I see June again in person after the day that I had met him. Kaho had actively been relaying messages from him to me over the time frame. At first I had wondered why she and June had been in contact so often, however it was insignificant to me. I do not care. Today I find myself back at the place where my life had begun. It has been one week since I died.

I have met a woman named Hikari. She had spent the evening at my house and had been the one who bought me back here this day. She seems a little older than myself and has hair so long it reaches to her waist. Her voice is very sweet and child-like. I recognize it as the one that had called out to me a week ago.

The house in which we are at belongs to an older woman who teaches us how to speak English. She holds an open lesson to anyone of any age group for a fee. The moment I spot June present in the class I beeline to choose a chair on the exact opposite side of the room. His eyes follow me, carving into my back. I pull Hikari along with me; I still do not want to be alone. She looks over her shoulder back to June.

“Oh, are you having a fight with that friend?”

“He’s not my friend,” is my reply.

“Perhaps we should have sit with your friend. He looked sad this whole lesson.” She says. I decide not to answer her statement. The duration of the class I struggle to comprehend what is going on. I find myself able to understand most of the language, but have no clue how to address the exercises we have been assigned. The instructor tends to go off on long tangents in discussion of fast speaking English with June, who seems to speak it completely fluently. At one stage I overhear my name mentioned between them, and try hard not to glance back toward them, instead staring hard into the decorative wall mirror above a ceremonial cabinet.

Looking at myself feels strange. I haven’t not seen myself before; there are mirrors in my own home, but apart from a brief intrigue I had not bothered to consider it closely. I have messy black hair and dark eyes, just the same as everyone else. If anything I look slightly sickly, my cheeks hollow and un-rounded, my shoulders poking through my clothes. I can also see Hikari in the mirror. She is laughing to the person opposite her as they each take turns trying to pronounce an unusual word, ‘de-ri-shi-o-sh-’.

She is pretty. Her face is round with a softly curved chin. I am still yet to truly know who she is to myself or my family, but I can’t help but hope she is someone close to me.

~

Hikari accompanies me on the route home. She takes her step slowly, her hands tucked gently in front of her. Occasionally with the breeze her dress billows outward below her knees. Her eyes follow the pebbles and stone rather than the skyline or the surroundings. She seems so absent minded that I take her firmly by the wrist to lead her. I assume we are going to my house, so that is where I take her.

We are about halfway when she speaks softly, her voice washing away.

“No... I... I thought talking of it would ease the pain but I decided I do not want to any more.” I take in her words, of course unaware of the context, but I remain calm and patient. I will soon find out what she means.

“Talk about what?” I ask gently.

“Yes...” she starts before continuing, her voice growing as she passionately let go of the words on her tongue. “It made me think of Masaki. Do you think that is how he felt? I thought I was about to join him for a moment. it was so close, far more than the previous raids. When the ground shook it could only make my heart leap out of their moth, almost as if I was going to be sick.”

“Masaki?” I question, wondering who this person could be.

“I know you haven’t been well recently, and I know that half of what I ever say seems to go straight through your head, but I feel like you of all people will understand.”

I know that my responses are hollow. Every time I reply it is as if I can not be heard, since my words never get an answer, however as this conversation had progressed my words had backwardly evoked new explanations. I had to try asking at least, even though I was feeling frustrated now.

“Wait, please explain to me. What do you mean?”

“I know it is unsettling to speak of, but the bomb drop on Thursday really shook me up.” is her reply.

I do not say anything more and neither does she. Her conversation is complete while I am trying to get my head around the information I have received. If what she says is true it means there is going to be a bombing in five days. My stomach fills with dread. I was born from the shrapnel of destruction. Would this kill me?

But it can’t.

I can’t die because I have to die next week, on the 19th. Nothing to fear. My inner voice is an attempted consolation but it doesn’t work very well. I look to Hikari and she looks back, smiling.

“Masaki always liked that song” she says before doing something completely unexpected.

She begins to sing; a sad and pretty song which is only enhanced by her beautiful voice. I listen then when she is done ask her to sing it again. She sings again but fades off at the end, falling into a hum.

~

Hikari had been correct about the seventh. I relive a nightmare as my family huddles in the bomb shelter. I had seen the structures around previously and wondered what they were. Now I know.

We are lucky; our shelter has been constructed from stone and brick, and is sufficiently deep. Most people have nothing but wood and dirt protecting them.When we emerge the streets miraculously seem cleaner; the air is less dusted.

Kaho, in all her delinquency, had once again skipped school. Her blames lay on me, claiming that I have told her about bombs on the 7th, and that I had an uncanny reputation for predicting the future. In her time she will have been correct to believe me, as that future would have inevitably come true.

~

I swear it is her suggestion that we go to June’s place, as she talks about it the whole time we walk there. We go hand in hand at my own request. She thinks that I am being strange; she can’t understand what I am shaken up about. I know that the bombs are now behind me, but it feels good to have your safety placed in the palm on another. Having Kaho to hold onto calms me. Even though I am physically older, to me Kaho is more mature, and is more like an elder sister than a younger one. I think she understands this; out of everyone in the world she makes me feel the safest.

~

The distance to June’s place seems considerably smaller compared to the time I had so desperately fled. That night I had wandered in the dark until evening, relying on my instincts to eventually guide me home. From what I have seen, walking seems to be quite a proficient way for citizens to get around. Automobiles, though not as much as before, are few on the routes we take, which could be attributed to the damage of several roads.

When we arrive June is waiting for us at the top of the drive. He nods at me.

“And Akira,” he says in a flat tone. His attention moves to Kaho, he picks up one of her hands in his and presses his lips against the back of her palm, the kiss lingering on her skin for quite some time. He then takes her other hand and performs a similar peck on her cheek.

“Stay safe Kaho” He tells her softly. I watch them with incertitude, the way that touch each other makes me feel uncomfortable and unfamiliar. With one hand they grip tightly but the other hold resembles more of a hover, June arching his fingers backward while Kaho seems ready to pull away. She should pull away, I silently urge. I do not like June touching Kaho; she is younger, kinder. He should keep away.

My gaze, in attempt not to be caught scowling at their interaction, moves to the front porch of the house. The man who is June’s father sits there, leaning back in a woven wick chair, a cloud of smoke building up from the cigar he hungrily bites at. He is watching us. It makes me feel even more uncomfortable.